A Cup of Coffee
by TheLaziestWriter
Summary: The café is the epitome of curt, neat, professionalism, at least on the exterior. If one was to step inside the building, however, they would be bombarded with autumn colors. The painted trees and leaves decorate the walls with various reds and oranges and golds. Eventual Turkey/Greece, other side pairings. Multi-chapter fic, but don't expect it to be finished. Ratings may rise.


The Fall Café is a humble place of business and it is almost akin to a bakery. The building is centered in a friendly town at the end of 51st Peach Street, where on a curb sits an old time clock which suits the decor of The Fall Café. The exterior of the building is modest and plain with few windows, gray-painted walls, and an elegant black sign with a white font entitled with the name of the café. Along the sides of the building rise iron fences that guard the yellow rose bushes. These fences lead to the mahogany double-doors with handles crafted from shined bronze.

The café is the epitome of curt, neat, professionalism, at least on the exterior. If one was to step inside the building, however, they would be bombarded with autumn colors. The painted trees and leaves decorate the walls with various reds and oranges and golds. The lights that hang from the ceiling set a languid mood of peace, and they give the walls dramatic shadows. Like the same wood from which the double-doors are made, there are several tables about the café with two cushioned chairs per table. At the two corners of the café are two large booths with fine burgundy leather seats. The scent of coffee and delicious sweets gives hospitality and merry times. The few windows of The Fall Café supply the most romantic of lights at sunset.

At the front of the coffee shop is the counter where people are served with some dessert, java, or lunch. There are display cases for these confectionaries, delicious cakes or cookies or pies. Carrot cake, angel food cake, pumpkin pie, soft sugar cookies, you name it. Near the display case is a tip jar with a few dollars and coins. A menu of variety of the same font and color of the sign outside hangs on the wall, above the register, ranging in prices.

Truly it is a coffee shop to be admired for its architecture and symbolic beauty within, and although, shockingly, the café has little publicity, it is the little, familiar people who matter most. The happy smiles and pleased faces, with the taste of sweets and icing on their tongues, are unable to make a comparison to money. Conversations are lively whenever there are people, and with people come happy stories about good times, romantic evenings, marriages, and new life brought to this world.

Sadik Adnan, a hearty Turkish worker with Mediterranean skin and hazel eyes, believes it is impossible to be any happier with his job than he is now. The pay is decent, the people always have something interesting to say, his boss is strict yet kind, there is no uniform required but a white, long apron, and he merely enjoys the ambience of The Fall Café. Sometimes, on his days off, he would wish to be called in to work, with or without pay. Oh, but sometimes he would have rotten customers, yet that is nothing to him on the grand scale of things.

After closing, the time being 8:30PM, he finishes sweeping some dirt from the floor and disposes the trash. He cleans the dishes and wipes the tables. He removes his apron, and he neatly folds and places it in a drawer for work on the morrow. As he clocks out, his attention is caught by the gentle tapping on the window closest to him. He blinks and grins, catching sight of his best companion Kiku Honda, a polite, short Japanese man. His hair is black and his eyes are wide and brown, and he is a rather short man. He is all awkward smiles and sincerity, and Sadik is glad to have him as his friend.

Unable to keep his friend waiting, he immediately leaves the building to greet him with his light Turkish accent, "Merhaba, Kiku! What are you doing here so late at night?"

"Konnichiwa, Sadik-kun." The Japanese man smiles. "I came to discuss with you about living arrangements. I know how you have been looking for a more permanent residence instead of jumping door to door with all of your friends for a night's stay, including me, so I thought we could go to his apartment and talk to him?

"Ah, of course, if it is no trouble!" He sputters. "I just thought you would like to settle down, and I assumed my friend was lonely living in that large apartment he has! And honestly I have actually been talking to him about it for awhile now . . ."

Sadik could not be anymore touched by Kiku's generosity and consideration, and he does not refuse his friend's offer. Lately, he feels like a bother for crashing house to house periodically. Actually finding a place to stay and pay rent does not sound bad, quite better, though depending on the cost. With a toothy grin, he says, "It's no trouble at all. Let's go, but who is this guy?"

The pair begins to walk to their destination, with Kiku slightly leading the way. "His name is Heracles Karpusi, and he is very kind and not very shy. I don't think he has many friends but he has a cat named Corporal Cat that he is very fond of. He's sort of estranged, I suppose. I think living with another person would be good for him."

Slowly Sadik nods, allowing the information to process. He does not mind cats but he has a slight allergy to them, but he is certain allergy pills will solve the problem. They will be an insignificant cost in the long run, and hopefully the rent won't be too extreme. By Kiku's words, Sadik imagines a small young man whose only friends are Kiku and a cat, and he sees how much larger the apartment is compared to such a short person. The corner of his mouth quirks in a funny yet saddened smirk.

"Also, don't insult his mother or his Greek heritage," says Kiku suddenly. "It is very important you do not offend him by those two means. Or by insulting his intelligence."

Sadik sniffs, stuffing his hands into his pockets. As the pair walk across the next street, he says, "I wouldn't dream of it. But uh, what would he do if I accidentally did something like that?"

Kiku shrugs. "I have never offended him in such ways before because I knew better. Although, my best guess is that he will be rather moody and snarky, or worse, stay silent and glare daggers at you as he plans certain revenge."

The Turk chokes a noise in the back of his throat. "He sounds like a nice guy for sure." The image of Heracles alters slightly into a lonely young man with passive-aggression on his side. He shakes his head.

"But he is very nice and he doesn't really get angry unless you say something that offends him! In fact, I don't think I have ever seen him angry before."

"Is that so?"

"Hai."

"All right. If you say so." They turn around the corner of the street and head straight. Sadik is thinking about how to make a good first impression on Heracles. Not too demanding, not too passive, but something solid and ideal. Something that is good enough for this person to allow him to live in his home.

It takes fifteen minutes to arrive at the upstair apartment in which Heracles lives, and the building itself is quite homely. Kiku and Sadik ascend the stairs, and the Japanese man seeks for the certain number on the door. Kiku halts at the sixth door at the end of the left aisle, and so does Sadik. His eyes flicker to the door number: 24. The ravenette knocks three times on that door, loudly announcing their presence to the man inside the apartment.

Within few moments they hear the rustling of locks being undone, and the door opens to reveal Heracles and the greenest eyes Sadik has ever seen. However, he is taller than Sadik expected, but he is about a few centimeters shorter than himself. His unkempt brunette hair is curly and wavy, with bangs partially hiding his forehead, each side a lock of hair that frames his cheeks. His skin is sunkissed but it has not seen the Mediterranean sun for very long, and his body is slender yet strong and his arms are crossed. He wears a teal v-neck shirt with long sleeves and comfortable pajama pants with spring-colored stripes that have faded with time. There is a tiny smile on his face as he sees Kiku, yet a delicate brow raises on his face as he notices the other man.

Kiku instantly introduces his best friend. "Konnichiwa, Heracles," he says as he gesticulates to the Turk beside him, "this is my good friend Sadik Adnan, the one I've talked a lot about. Do you remember how you agreed to meet him at any time we were around to discuss living arrangements?"

There is a blank, spacey expression on his face, as if he does not know what is going on. He blinks slowly and lazily. Sadik furrows his brows at how silent the other man is being. Kiku is all awkward smiles because of the odd silence. The Japanese man was going to further explain himself until a sigh of realization dawns on Heracles. His hand goes to rub the sleep from his eyes, and he sighs again. "I'm sorry, what? I was sleeping when you came here." Sadik refrains from rolling his eyes. Perhaps it wasn't a sigh of realization after all.

"Oh, we are sorry for disturbing your nap!" Kiku is alarmed, but Heracles shrugs it off. Sadik feels as if sleeping will soon return to the Greek as easily as breathing does. "Well . . . we came to discuss my friend's living arrangements. So that he could live with you. And pay rent."

Heracles nods and stands aside to allow Sadik and Kiku into his abode. In his apartment are walls that are painted plain baby blue, and a few photographs of landscape and a lovely older woman hang there. In the left corner sits a large, white, comfortable chair and nestled into that chair is a lyre with too many strings to count. Against the wall next to the chair is the couch, also white and looks just as comfortable as the chair. The wooden floor is light in color, and a nice olive rug dresses the floorboard. Sadik peers down the hallway to see two doors on the left, one door at the very end, and one door on the right.

While Sadik is examining his clean home, Heracles is examining him as well. His skin is naturally tan, his short hair is brown, and his eyes are brilliantly hazel. About his strong jaw is stubble that shouldn't be shaved but could be kept a little neater. The Greek feels as if this man would be more talkative and energetic, less stiff, if they knew each other better, their only connection together being Kiku thus far. He notices how Sadik is slightly taller, and if he was childish he would pout because of it. He wears a simple black t-shirt with jeans, hands kept in his pockets. Obviously this man is strong and he looks like he can keep after himself. He bites his lip in thought.

Sadik's attention is caught by Heracles as he speaks. "I suppose you seem . . . capable of handling your own messes around here, and if Kiku trusts you then I trust you. I guess." Sadik is ecstatic by the fact Heracles will give him a chance-he is so glad to know Kiku-but he is somewhat put off by how slow the Greek talks. Heracles runs a hand through his messy bed head and yawns, "And more money is never a bad thing."

The Japanese man claps his hands together with happiness. "Wonderful! However, it is getting late and I must return to feed Pochi. It is nice to see you again, Heracles. Sadik, you can return to my home for your belongings as you please." Both the Turk and the Greek are alarmed when they realize that Kiku is intending to leave them alone with each other. They are about to protest when Kiku leaves the apartment, politely closing the door at an appropriate volume.

There is a brief silence before Sadik turns to Heracles with an anxious smile on his face. He pulls his hand out of his pocket to hold it out for a handshake, introducing himself, "Sadik Adnan." If his smile was more confident, then Sadik would have been glad to claim that this was the ideal first impression.

Heracles' heart beats strongly against his chest as he stares at his hand, and he decides it is because this man is still a stranger to him. However, he does not want to be rude. Tentatively he returns the handshake as strongly as his heart is beating. The only good, promising handshake is one that is firm, and his new flatmate seems pleased. "Heracles Karpusi."

Not only did Sadik notice how slowly he talks, but now he hears how languidly the Greek accent, as feathery as it is, flows from his voice into English. In the corner of his eye, he sees a small animal hiding behind the couch, staring at him curiously. He could only assume that it is Corporal Cat, and even he must admit the feline is cute. His eyes return to Heracles' face as the Greek speaks again.

"Allow me to go over some basic rules," he begins, and Sadik nods, finding that to be an appropriate topic of conversation. First, Heracles points to the white chair in the corner of the room, then to the lyre, "Do not sit in my chair and do not play with my lyre. I will not be happy to find a broken chair or broken strings. But I must forewarn you that I awake early in the mornings to play every day, and it is a loud instrument."

Heracles turns to walk through his hallway, and he beacons for Sadik to follow, which he does. He points to the first door on the right and says the kitchen is there. "Make your own meals but make sure to keep my kitchen clean." The door at the end of the hall is the bathroom. "Please refrain from using my hygienic supplies. Oh, and provide your own medication if necessary.

"This," the Greek points to the next door closest to the bathroom, "is my room, and it is off limits. I like my privacy." Sadik nods. He can respect that. Next is the door beside Heracles' room, the first door on the right of the hallway. "And this," Heracles places his hand on the doorknob and opens the door, "is your room . . . ?"

The room is by no means empty. Several boxes of various sizes are scattered everywhere within the room, and obviously this extra room is used for storage. Sadik could tell that most of the boxes contain photographs, and less contain some kind of sentimental items. This collection seems to have accumulated over a year or two, perhaps more. Sadik is unable to be annoyed at the state of his room for his situation, perhaps it is because he is only tired and amused, especially after work at The Fall Café. The Turk chortles at the mess lightheartedly, and he says, "Looks like my bed is made out of boxes and papers."

As he shifts his weight onto one foot, Heracles faintly blushes in embarrassment and he runs a hand through his bangs, muttering to himself, "I could have sworn I have moved this stuff already today . . . Was is it all just a dream?"

Such a spacey person. "Guess so. Ah, well. We can get it all moved somewhere now, or we can wait until tomorrow to move this stuff together." Sadik says, reaching for a compromise. He watches how Heracles yawns and shakes his head, and he raises a curious brow. "No?"

"I can get it all done tomorrow by myself. This is my fault anyway." Heracles could do it himself, no worries, however Sadik does seem a little miffed. He likes to help others. Heracles closes the door with a gentle click and shrugs at the other man. "Ah . . . another rule includes that you mustn't be loud in my home. Now, let's discuss rent."

=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=

After a good thirty minutes of talking over rent, Sadik manages to get a good deal. Hell, a very good deal, which is about $300 per every three weeks. He could definitely make that much in a short amount of time at the café. Heracles wouldn't even charge for his use of other expenses, like gas, electricity, water, or heat. It is suspicious and odd, but Sadik couldn't care much. His life is turning out pretty good so far, and he isn't sure why. Just thinking about it forces him to think that he is jinxing himself.

There will be a contract drawn up very soon, and Sadik will happily sign it, after reading it, of course. Until then, he is sitting on the couch in content, legs crossed, thinking about his job and his friends and his new landlord. Such a strange man he is, the Turk muses, confused, but not bad. Not bad at all, yet. At least, he hopes there is no yet. He faintly wonders wherever the man ran off, but he does not have the will to move from such a comfortable couch.

Then he sees Heracles emerging from the hallway with two cups of tea, and Sadik sits up. He politely thanks Heracles for the trouble of serving him a beverage. Then he realizes the drink may be an apology for his unprepared room. He shrugs; a drink is a drink, anyway. He sips his tea and finds it to be delicious. From the corner of his eye, he notices how out of place Heracles seems to be as he sits on the couch. Sadik reasons that he normally sits on his chair in the presence of company.

The Greek tries to make himself comfortable by pulling his legs onto the couch and by leaning against the arm of the couch. He sips a tiny amount of his tea and creates small talk, "So, where do you work?"

Sadik smiles. "I work at this nice little coffee shop called The Fall Café. Ever heard of it? It's at the end of 51st Peach Street."

"Yes, but I have never been inside before. I always pass by it whenever I am going to the grocery store. Who is the owner?"

"The owner is Ludwig Beilschmitz, my boss. He's a nice guy, says that his building belongs to the family." Sadik fondly imagines the German, the modest one with slick blonde hair and sky-blue eyes, with respect. He sips his tea.

"Must be nice. I should visit some time for coffee." A smile ghosts over his lips.

"The first cup will be on me!" Even out of work, the Turk is hospitable, and the Greek thanks him for his generosity. They have finished their tea awhile ago and fell into an amicable silence, but suddenly Sadik interrupts the quietness with a question. "How long were you in Greece?"

"I was nine and when I knew some basic English, we moved here to America, mother and I, because the economy was not doing well in Greece. It's saddening because I thought it was most beautiful there, and she always told me stories about my homeland. What about you?"

"I came to America as soon as I could leave my home, which was a while ago, despite how little English I knew. Disagreeable parents, y'know? Got little, sucky jobs, learned English as I went along, made friends, stayed in crappy, cheap motels-the works. Then I learned enough English to get a job at the place I work at now."

"Must have been difficult. Only a dedicated person could do that."

He nods. "Damn straight, but life has been very good to me. It could have been a lot worse." A lot worse, Sadik thinks but decides not to dwell on it for too long. He glances at the clock before the couch on the wall, the time being 11:00PM. "Ah, man," he frowns, "I should probably get back to Kiku."

"You don't have to," interjects Heracles, who is staring into his empty teacup. "You can sleep here on the couch for tonight."

"Are you sure? I don't want to overstay my welcome." It is an odd question to ask for Sadik because he intends to live here anyway. And he does not want to leave now, actually, and it is decidedly because Kiku is most likely asleep now. He does not want to disturb him.

"Yes. It is fine." The Greek curtly nods at him, his green eyes wide yet sleepy. He uncurls himself from his position on the couch with all of the grace of a feline and hops off, taking Sadik's empty teacup into his hand. "I am going back to bed. Kaliníhta, Sadik." With this said, the brunette retreats into the hallway. The Turk blinks as he heard soft footsteps walk about until they finally end to their final destination: the bedroom.

"Iyi geceler," he whispers into the empty livingroom. Sleep is a good idea, he thinks, especially when work begins early tomorrow. He removes his shoes from his feet, keeping his socks on, and sets them beside the apartment's front door. He climbs onto the couch and lays down, squirms to become more comfortable, and sighs. He stares at the ceiling, wondering when everything became more agreeable. He ponders over Kiku and Heracles, the regulars at The Fall Café, his boss. He closes his eyes and imagines being behind the counter, and is lulled to sleep by the smell of coffee and baked sweets, the sight of green eyes.


End file.
